Thursday, January 3, 2013

Matchmaker, Matchmaker, Make Me a Magic Nesting Pill

I know I said my next post was going to consist of my deep thoughts about culturism and poverty ... but sometimes I'm in a serious mood and I write about racism and sometimes I'm in a dorky mood and I write about dorky stuff, such as the following:

Yesterday I woke up motivated. It felt weird to want to be productive in a way that doesn't involve re-watching the first two seasons of Downton Abbey, but I decided to act on the feeling. I showered, put on non-frumpy clothes (and a necklace, people!), vacuumed, emptied and washed the vacuum canister (sick), vacuumed again, un-decorated the Christmas tree (learning some valuable lessons about light placement that I'll use next year; I also found one of Graham's shoes that had gone missing), hauled said retired Christmas tree to the curb while Graham sobbed the saddest tears of his life, swept up Graham's body weight in pine needles, went grocery shopping, made maple-glazed salmon for dinner, did the dishes, packaged three nativities, took care of some paperwork, and then re-watched the final episode of Downton Abbey season two in preparation for the upcoming season three. I think I even brushed my teeth somewhere in there.

What's Downton Abbey to polishing aluminum? Daisy the kitchen maid has nothing on me!

What's happening to me? I thought. First explanation: first trimester exhaustion/illness puts me in a semi-depressed funk that I'm finally free of. The contrast makes my behavior seem more radical than it really is. Hmm, this is likely, but not assuredly, as my regular, non-pregnant self isn't that great at getting chores done either.

Is this the face of a woman who loves to clean? No, it's the face of a truck driver. Side note: I've been trying to teach Graham to say "zit," but so far all he can manage is "bah."

Second explanation: nesting. Ahh, that one beautiful pregnancy symptom: the desire to clean, organize, and generally be domestic ... all while loving every minute. This explanation is more feasible, which leads me to one of modern womankind's deepest questions:

Why has the nesting urge not been captured in chemical form?

If it happens while I'm pregnant, it must be chemically-induced, right? Then how come I can't take synthetic nesting hormone to finally work up the motivation to clean the grit in my window tracks? Do you realize how amazing that would be? A pill that makes you an exceptional housewife? I don't care how feminist you are, that would be awesome.

Nathan pointed out that such a drug could come with other pregnancy-related side effects. I replied that I would gladly throw up in the morning if it meant the rest of my day was so productive.

What would it be called? "June Cleaver's Magic Potion"? "Domestizon" ( across between "domestic" and "amazon," naturally)? "Nest-ZING!"?

Sign me up for the human trials.
Graham and his best friend, in better days.

 P.S. I saw Les Miserables. I don't like that they sang their conversations. I like my musicals Sound of Music style, where they talk normally and establish themselves as normal people before bursting into song. But it's like the songs are intentional and not just thrust upon the characters as a requirement of the genre. Maria sings because she wants to sing.

Are you one of those weirdies who breaks into random song in public? Often with like-minded friends or family? I bet you loved Les Mis. You might think you're just as awesome as Maria and therefore deserve to dominate communal sound waves. You probably think everyone around you is exulting in your voice, your boldness, your songbird-like innocence and joy in melody. They aren't.


  1. ha ha ha! Loved the little thought at the end. I hate a lot of musicals for that reason. Too much singing. And, how would everyone know the same song and dance? It makes no sense.

  2. AH, the taking down of the tree. I suppose I need to get onto that. Dad always puts ON the lights and I take them off. This year he told me that I wrap them up backwards, he wants one certain end hanging if I could just remember which end...
    Our tree was kinda sad this year with only Nick and Dan's ornaments and some of ours that we haven't put on the tree for years. And the one of Robbi's sky diving off the top of the tree. And Nick realized his zebra was missing and Katie has it.
    Oh, and I like your red tree skirt.
    i wish I could get a million things done in a day. I actually have days like that...once in a while.

  3. I hate musicals. With 89% of the fibers in my being. Really Maria?? You have to sit on the end of your oldest charge's bed and sing about getting your period and becoming a woman? And really Bing and Co? Do you REALLY have to sit on a train and sing a whole song about snow? How you want to .....shovel it? There isn't even any dancing to that number, so its pretty much the most intolerable 2 minutes (that seems like 45) of my life. Four people sitting on a train singing in each others' faces about precipitation. But when they set up a diorama of snow, that's when I contemplate shoving bamboo shoots up my own fingers. Haven't seen that movie or don't remember the song? Knock yourselves out:

    I'm going to go and watch Aragorn chopping off Orcs' heads just to get that image out of my mind.

    Oh, and around here, people DO burst out into random songs just like in a musical. Its bizarre.


    1. I made the mistake of clicking on the link. And the diorama is classic in it's dorkiness.

      I'm fine with people singing at home, especially if it's a dorky song or fake opera ... my family definitely does that--it's the choir nerds who delight in harmonizing in PUBLIC (not at a performance) and take themselves too seriously.


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